Some Enchanted Evening
by TheBaldOneMpls
Summary: Prom will be a night that they'll always remember. Whether they like it or not.
1. Get Up'n Move

DISCLAIMER:

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. I write this story solely for my own enjoyment and not to create profit for myself or any other entity. All copyrighted material/characters are owned by their respective copyright holder(s).

* * *

**SOME ENCHANTED EVENING**

* * *

_I  
__Get Up 'n Move

* * *

_

"Man, this time, I _got_ you!"

Gerald's battlecry was unmistakable. As he began to pull off his Ecko t-shirt to reveal a new wifebeater and a nicely-defined body, a handful of regulars at started to move ever so slightly towards the Dance Dance Revolution machine. Like a favorite Broadway play that one watches again and again, they all knew exactly what was about to transpire, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

"Whatever you say," replied Eugene with a smile. "Just pick a song and let's just get it over with."

"Oh, don't you think for a second that today will be like the other..." Gerald paused in thought. "It doesn't matter how many times you've won before."

"A hundred and thirtyseven, honey," chimed Phoebe from a nearby table.

"Really?" inquired Arnold as he reached for the communal cheese fries. "I thought it was one thirtyeight."

"Buck fourty by my count," added Helga through her chewing.

"Thanks, guys," said Gerald in mock gratitude, as he finally settled on "Jet World." "The point is, the streak ends right now!" Without another word, both combatants prepared for 100 seconds of dancing combat.

Welcome to a typical Sunday afternoon in Hillwood. With Saturdays set for work and Sunday nights dedicated to any last-minute studying or homework that needed to be done, this was the only part of the weekend guarenteed to be free for all of the 'Fab 4.' For the most part, this would be their time to decompress from the stresses of school. With the worst part of Senior year behind them, their Sunday gettogethers became more or less extentions of whatever they did the night before. Still, there was something special about Sunday afternoons that made them so fun... so refreshing... so...

"Yeah, baby!" exclaimed Gerald, raising his arms in victoryin a Muhamad Ali-like victory pose. "Your winner, and NEW DDR champion of the wooooooooooorld..."

"Um, Gerald?"

"Now, Eugene," he replied, consolingly, "you put up a great fight. Don't go spoiling it by trying to talk trash, now. That's just fowl."

"But Gerald... you know I won, right?"

A short pause followed.

"I know, I know, but a brotha can dream, can't he?" He and Eugene chuckled as the small crowd, satisfied with the result, returned to their own games. "Well, see ya next week, man." With that, Gerald returned to his table and sat. He was quickly welcomed with a consoling hug from behind from Phoebe.

"Don't worry, honey," she said as she began to rub his shoulders. "You'll beat him eventually. Right, guys?"

"If by 'eventually,' you mean 'when pigs fly,'" replied Arnold, "then yes. Yes he will."

"Hey now," defended Gerald as he began to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Modern science is doing some amazing things! I heard about this one snake in Brazil that was taught to dress itself."

"Oh my goodness!"cried Phoebe, suddenly releasing Gerald's shoulders

"I know! You should'a seen the pictures. There's this one where it's got on this little top hat and tux..."

"No, no, no!The dress! I was going to meet my parents at the bridal shop to pick out a Prom dress." Phoebe then returned her hands to her boyfriend's shoulders. "You ready to take off?"

"Sure thing, baby." He turned towards the other two at the table. "You guys wanna come too?"

"Thanks," replied Arnold, "but as fun as dress-shopping sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to pass on this one."

"Yeah," said Helga, as she reached for her Dr. Pepper. "We wouldn't wanna intrude."

"But Helga," said Phoebe, "it wouldn't be intruding. Besides, you should start thinking about a dress for yourself."

"Ummm... maybe another time," she replied, definately not sounding suspicious. Yep, not suspicious at all.

"Oh well, suit yourself. Gerald and I will be back at my place around 6:30. Did you two want to meet up there?"

"That depends," said Helga with a smile. "Are you two gonna be fully clothed?"

With an ear-to-ear grin, Gerald replied, "As long as y'all are there by 6:30."

"After that?" asked Arnold.

"Well, at 6:31..." chmied Phoebe with a grin bigger than Gerald's, "no guarantees!" With that, she promptly grabbed Gerald's hand and led him towards the exit of GamePalace. Back at the table, Helga and Arnold watched in awe.

"Can you believe them, Arnold?"

"I know," he said, as he turned towards his blonde friend. "Three years, and they're still flirting like they're about to celebrate their two week anniversary."

"They don't know how good they've got it."

"Tell me about it."

"So, Arnaldo," began Helga with a smile. "Should we show up at Phoebe's at 7?"

"Sure, but... why not 6:30?"

"Twenty bucks says those two were serious." Her grin widened as she extended her hand to Arnold. He quickly brought his hand to hers and shook.

"You're on!"


	2. Busy Child

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

* * *

_II  
__Busy Child

* * *

_

"Oh my God, I don't even know you anymore!" cried Arnold as he fell onto his couch. "Please tell me you're kidding!"

"Oh, c'mon, Arnaldo!" bemoned Helga from the foot of her friend's bed. "I don't care if he's a _30_-time MVP! He's not better than KG!"

After years of tormenting him, it was sports that helped Helga get back in Arnold's good graces. Their common passion was discovered at the end of 8th grade, when Arnold won four tickets to a Mariners-Yankees game. Gerald and Phoebe both dozed off around the fourth inning, waking up only when Gerald wanted a hot dog or Phoebe wanted to oggle Ichiro. Sometime around the top of the sixth, Arnold and Helga both yelled at the manager for bringing in a new pitcher when the starter had a great game going. That moment sealed their new lives together as friends. From then on, it was almost nothing but sports when Arnold (the Sonics and Mariners fan) and Helga (a Seahawk and Mariner diehard and Laker-hater extrordinaire) were alone. Many an intended late night study session was spent at Arnold's place watching whatever was on ESPN at the time (Poker was the current 2 a.m. favorite, but World's Strongest Man was a close second).

Arnold stared in disbelief. "You're going to sit in _my room_, on _my couch_, and tell me with a straight face that Kevin Garnett is better than Tim Duncan."

"Yes. Yes I am."

"What on earth could make you think that?"

Helga sighed. "Well, the fact that he _is_ better, for one..."

"That's it," Arnold cried as he threw up his arms in frustration. "You're officially insane."

"Oh, am I?" Helga got up and walked towards the bed, taking one of the couch cushions with her. "Tell me then, tell me one thing Duncan has that Garnett doesn't."

"I could name two, but I don't think championships have names."

Instead of a counterpoint, Arnold got a cushion to the face. "Let's see _you_ win a championship with Rasho Nesterovic!"

Arnold sighed. "And I put up with you because...?"

"Because I'm just so damn cute!" She followed her comment with an extremely fake smile, which got a chuckle out of Arnold.

"True," was all he was able to muster up. In actuality, she wasn't cute - she was goregeous. Her hair, a brilliant light-blonde, flowed almost magically to her shoulders. Her face could put anyone on the cover of People to shame; lucious, protruding lips, a perfectly-shaped nose, and big, beautiful, baby-blue eyes you could get lost in. If a man could break his gaze from the face of perfection, his reward would be a perfectly-toned and shaped body that would make any heterosexual man do things that were illegal in 46 states.

Arnold searched his mind for something to say. "You know, Helgs," he finally said, "You're really somethin' else."

With that, Helga's cheese-grin softened to a legitimate chuckle. She liked when he called her Helgs. Actually, she liked when anyone called her Helgs, but especially when he said it. It felt softer and less abrasive than Helga... but then again, so would a Brillo Pad. The nickname was more than just a name, though. It was indicative of her personality change from her younger years. She had outgrown the need to overpower people, so gone were the strongarm tactics and short fuses of elementary school. Call it maturity. Call it evolving. Call it a pleasant side-effect to the end of her mother's alcohol addiction. Whatever it was, the end result was the same; Helga was dead. Long live Helgs!

Now it was Helga's turn to snap back into reality. "Anyways," she started, "it's almost quarter to to 7. We should probably call Phoebe and tell her we're coming up." She turned to Arnold and extended her palm. Arnold sighed through his smile.

"How can _you_, of all people, not have one?" he asked as he handed over his cell phone.

"Aw, you know how my dad is. Stupid." She laughed at her own joke as she begain to dial.

"I'm telling you, every person on the planet will have one within a couple of years."

"Everyone except for me and on guy from Siberia," Helgs sniped as she brought the phone to her ear. "Hey Feebs, what's up?... Whoa, are you OK? You sound winded... I was just gonna tell ya that were about to... Are you _sure_ you're OK?... Sorry, there was some static. What are you doing?... _Ooooooooh_... Well that would explain... OK then, I guess we'll see ya later... Have fun."

"What was that all about?" asked an extremely puzzled Arnold.

"We're not going to Phoebe's."

"And why is that?"

Helga paused for a moment. "They're... busy."

"Too busy for us?"

"No, no, no," she said, shaking her head. "They're _busy_."

Arnold looked confused. "Okay..."

"**Biz**-**zy**."

"I... still don't follow."

Helga sighed. "Look, I don't know if I can put any more emphasis on the word 'busy,' but let me try one more time. They're... _**busy**_."

"What exactly are they..." Arnold paused. "_Oooooh_, I see. Well, it is 6:45, so we can't really..." He paused again. "Ugh! Pictures and images in my head!" He began to rub his temples furiously, as if he had been hit with five migranes at once.

"Ya know," Helga said with a chuckle, "I woulda' paid to see you when your grandparents gave you the talk."

Arnold exhaled and slowly regained his composure. "OK, I'm good. Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten since the arcade, so I'm pretty hungry. How does Slaussen's sound?"

"You're hungry, so you're going to eat... ice cream?"

"...Yeah."

"OK, just checkin'," said Helga as she reached for her purse and headed downstairs. "You know, Arnaldo, how do you think you got here?"

"My parents having sex is not something I choose to think about," he defended as they reached Old Rusty.

"I was actually thinking... a little older..."

After a moment of dead silence, Arnold closed his eyes, shuddered, and began to rub his temples.

"Just get in the car..."


	3. i feel

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

* * *

_III  
__i feel...__

* * *

_

Nobody will ever confuse Hillwood in the springtime with Paris. It is, after all, only 5 miles south of Seattle, and grunge couldn't have originated from a city where every April morning is cloud-free and 70 degrees. But there are certain nights when there are few places you'd rather be than Seattle's oldest suburb, and this night just happened to be one of them. Even at 8:30 at night, it was seventy-six; warm enough to keep your car windows rolled down - even after finishing a double-sweet banana split and a Mt. Orange-ia slush, as Arnold and Helga had done, respectively.

"Should we go to Phoebe's?" asked Arnold as he pulled into what was commonly known as the world's longest stoplight.

_'Cause this is MY United States of Whatever...  
_  
"Nah," replied Helga without looking up from the car radio. "I don't wanna interrupt anything. Criminy, why can't there ever be anything good on?"

_My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like...  
_  
Helga shuddered as she continued her quest. Her decision was quickly met with protest.

"Hey, why'd you turn it?"

"Repeat: Why can't there ever be anything _good _on?"

"You're probably just jealous because her milkshake is better than..." Before he could finish, the back of his head was introduced to Helga's palm.

"Never. Say that. Again."

"Say what?" asked the ever-innocent Arnold. "MilkshOWW!"

Helga grinned. "And they say violence doesn't solve anything!" Arnold continued to rub the back of his head; not out of pain, but in the hopes of getting Helga's sympathy. Receiving none, he changed the subject.

"So Helgs, how come you didn't go with Gerald and Feebs?" He reached for the radio tuner, hoping that he'd be more successful in finding something bearable to listen to. "I thought you hadn't picked out a prom dress yet."

"Well, I haven't, but..." She stumbled on what to say next, but was quickly saved. "Wait a second. Go back, go back." Arnold obliged by turning the dial back to 91.7 FM and was quickly rewarded.

_Buddy, you're a young man, hard man  
Shoutin' in the streets, gonna take on the world someday  
You got blood on your face, you big disgrace...  
_  
Arnold shot Helga a smile. Without a word, they both knew what had to be done...

"WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU!"

The two fell back into their seats with laughter. Their impromptu performance earned them a "Rock on!", a "Queen rules!", and several strange glances from the surrounding motorists. As they stopped laughing, the light finally turned green and they continued on the road to nowhere in particular.

"So what about White Castle?" asked Helga.

"Hey, you didn't answer my question yet."

"And neither did you, bucko!" She thought that she sounded a _little_ angrier than she should have, but she didn't tone her voice down. "White Castle, yes or no?"

"I thought we just ate."

"No,_ you_ ate._ I_ drank."

_Much_ too angry that time.

Arnold turned towards her as if he had just decieved her. "I... I'm sorry, Helga... I didn't know that..."

Before he could get any further, Helga held up her palm to stop him. She sighed and chuckled slightly. "Football head, what have I told you about apologizing for stuff you didn't do? Look, _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that. It's just that..." She seemed to scan her brain for the right thing to say, or the right way to say it, but came up empty.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?"

Helga nodded. Without another word, Arnold switched lanes and headed for White Castle as she laid her head on his shoulder. He always seemed to have a knack for saying the right thing, even when he didn't necessarily say it. Helga always appreciated that about him, but never more so than this night.

Just one more reason why she loved him.

Her one-sided obsession with Arnold could be described as a play in three acts. The setup: Kindergarten. A rainy day. A shared umbrella. The second act: A loveless home. A misguided idea of perfection. Idol worship. The climax: Sixth grade. A rainy night. An outdoor stakeout. Near-fatal pneumonia. During her recovery, her family came together like never before. Her dad finally admitted that he cared about his youngest daughter... and proceded to act like it. Her mom swore off drinking... and meant it this time. Big sis put her entire life on hold to make sure that Helga came through OK. And while they still wouldn't live up to Dr. Phil's standards, they became... _functional.  
_  
With no need to create an ideal to live for, Helga let her quest for Arnold end. She threw out any and everything that she had made, created, written, and collected about Arnold and vowed to begin her life anew. Almost immediately afterwards, she and Arnold became... aquaintances. Not quite friends, but definately not enemies. About a year after the two became friends, she eventually, and unexplicably, came clean to him about everything; the stalking, the statues, the diary. All of it. And in a way that was so... _Arnold_, he nodded, said that he understood, and left it at that.

It was the umbrella all over again.

She saw Arnold not for what she used to believe him as (the non- religious equivilent of the second coming), but for what he really was; a naive, nerdy-cool, straight-B-plus student who was too forgiving and trusting for his own good. And she fell for him. No illusions. No pedistols. No love-sick poems or 2 am stakeouts. Just him. Back then, she obsessed with Arnold, the Ideal. Now, she loved Arnold, the man who would do anything for her. The man who would never let her stay sad, if he could help it. The man... who was bringing her six much-needed cheeseburgers.

"You didn't have to do this," said Helga as she grabbed the tray.

"I know, but I wanted to." He stood at the side of the booth, wondering to himself if he should sit beside her or across from her. Helga made his decision easier by patting the section of plastic bench beside her, and he easily glided his lanky frame between the bench and the table. He dropped himself a little closer than she expected him to, which wasn't a disappointment to her. She let out a small sigh. Or, at least she thought it was small.

"You OK, Helgs?"

"Wha?" She shook herself out of it. "Oh, yeah, I'm good." She turned her attention back to her food and began to peel the pickles off of her burgers.

"I'll never understand why you don't just order them without pickles."

"That's because you don't understand the essence of White Castle." A smile quickly returned to her face. "Pickles are not needed, but pickle_ flavoring_ is. Without the slight hint of pickle, you've got a brick of meat with onions and oily bread."

Arnold couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "I see someone's put waaaaay too much thought into this..."

"Hey, if you were addicted to these, you'd understand." She quickly took on cheeseburger #1, and took care of it with great ease. She was about to challenge burger #2 when she was stopped in her tracks.

"So, ready to talk now?"


	4. Love This Feelin'

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

* * *

_IV  
__Love This Feelin'

* * *

_

The human brain is quite a marvel, really. It controls everything our bodies do, from breathing to maintaining balance, from blinking to... well, everything else. Millions upon millions of these miniature messages are sent out from the brain every second of every minute of every day to keep our bodies functioning properly.

Unfortunately for one Helga Geraldine Pataki, the messages sent to her mouth were coming back "return to sender."

"I... well... um... it's just... **gaaah**!"

Arnold looked more than a little concerned. "Is this one of those things you're gonna have to take me on Springer to tell me about?"

"Actually, Arnold, I'm a man," Helga deadpanned.

"Wait. I thought you were gonna tell me something that I didn't already OWWW!" Arnold brought his hand to the back of his head, trying to soothe his soon-to-be bruise. "Had that one coming, didn't I?"

He recieved no response. Maybe this wasn't his best mood-lightening effort, he thought. Time for another approach.

"Ya know, Helgs," he began as he put his arm on his friend's near shoulder, "if you don't want to tell me what's wrong, that's fine. But I hope you know that if you do tell me, you don't have to worry about how it sounds or what I'm gonna think. Just let me know what's on your mind, OK?" He pulled her upon his shoulder for a quick semi-hug.

"Besides," he started again, "if you can't trust your BBD, who can you trust?"

Helga smiled softly, even though she felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Those three letters were usually comfortable to her, but at this time, with this closeness, it was a fast and harsh reminder of what she didn't, and perhaps couldn't, have.

BBD.

Boyfriend By Default.

It had all started about two and a half years ago, at the beginning of tenth grade. they were already comfortable with each other, but since their own best friends were dating each other, Helga and Arnold made the extra effort to keep peace between themselves. They had actually gotten pretty close... a little _too_ close to be just friends, in most students' minds. As stated in Section 4, Article 11, Paragraph 1 of the Popular High School Student Code, a boy and girl may not reach or approach the status of best friends, unless either one of them is gay, or they are having sex with each other. And since nobody thought (seriously, anyways) that Arnold was of the homosexual persuasion, the rumors began to fly.

The two blondes heard nothing of the rumors for the first few months of school. Had they caught wind of them, they would have found out (from _very_ reliable sources, mind you) that Helga was using him to gain popularity, that Arnold was using her to make his ex jealous, and that they had sweet-talked their way out of suspensions for getting caught having sex in the janitor's closet... on three seperate occasions. They were oblivious to it all, in fact, until an early December afternoon during lunch, when the two of them were spotted by a certain Super Freshman.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Helga."

Helga sighed before answering the call. "Whaddoya _want_, Berman?"

"Nothin' much. Just wanted to see what was happening between you and your _boyfriend_!"

Confused, she replied, "We... broke up a month ago."

"Oh really? Then why are you still hanging around the taco head?"

"Wait, wait, wait," cried Arnold. "You're not saying... _me_? And _her_?"

"That's the story!"

"That can't be," Arnold reasoned. "_We_ didn't break up."

"So you two are still dating!"

"No! We never went out in the..." Arnold was too late. The song had begun.

"Helga and Arnold sittin' in a tree, K-I-..." He paused in thought. "S..." His face suddenly turned from an angry one to a confused one. "...uh, line?"

Blink.

Arnold, bewildered, said the only thing he could think of.

"S."

"I know S. What comes _after_ it?"

Blink.

Blink.

"I," said an equally stunned Helga.

"No, you idiot, _after_ S, not _before_! You know what? Forget it! You're not even worth the whole song anyways!" With that, the large man left frustrated. Arnold and Helga, meanwhile, were more confused than either had ever been.

Once the shock of the stupidity had worn off, and they had pieced everything together, they thought it'd be best to ignore the rumors and let them die. Really, they agreed, how long could high school rumors last?

Thirty months later, they celebrated a supposed three-year anniversary by sweet-talking their way out of suspensions after getting caught having sex in the janitor's closet for the seventh time. And that's from a very, _very_ reliable source.

Back in the world of reality, Helga was once again bewildered. She had the chance to put her deepest secret out in the open, as she'd wanted to do for the last three years. She had Opportunity knocking at the door. All she had to do was open up and say 'Hi,' but her courage just wouldn't allow for it yet.

She glanced over towards the keeper of her heart, racking her brain for the perfect way to explain everything to him and say the things she always wanted to say. She kept thinking of what to say, but when push came to speak, all she could do was babble like she always did, and hope something good came out of it.

"It's just that... well, you see..." One last gasp, and Helga finally gathered herself. "Prom is... something special. And I want to share it with..."

_You. Say you. Damn it, Helga, it's not that hard! Say 'I want to share it with...'  
_  
"...someone special."

Arnold nodded. "So you were freaking out because you didn't have anyone special. Am I right?"

"Bingo," said Helga as she brought the last burger to her mouth.

"How about if you go with me, then?"

She gulped hard and froze. She had to have misheard it. There's no way he would have asked what she thought he had asked. Impossible. He must have been thinking about something else, like the school play, or a Mariners game, or the Home and Garden Show, or...

"Helgs, you still with the living?"

As her mind slowed down, she realized that she hadn't moved a muscle since he asked her the question she thought he had asked her. Heck, she wasn't sure that she had breathed since then. Quickly, she shook her head to wake herself up and try to make sense of what she (at least) thought he said.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I was just..."

_Thrilled. Excited. Dreaming of the two of us naked on a beach.  
_  
"...stunned, is all."

Arnold began to backtrack. "I mean, _you've_ got nobody to go with, and _I've_ got nobody to go with... it was just a suggestion."

Helga's ears perked up. "Wait a sec... did you just say _you_ had nobody to go with? What about Alexis?"

Arnold sighed. "A couple of weeks ago... It was a silly arguement, really. She thought it was OK to kiss other guys, and I kinda disagreed."

"_Ouch,_" she said, almost in physical pain from the hurt that Arnold must've been feeling. "You OK?"

"I'll survive," he said as he took one last slurp of his Dr. Pepper before setting it aside.

"Man, why don't you _tell _us these things?"

"I like keeping that sort of stuff private for a while." Arnold chuckled to himself. "Besides, the three of you tend to wish lots of ill will upon my exes. Am I right?"

_I'll break her damn legs! I will break each and every single one of her...  
_  
"No way," said Helga as she smiled innocently. "I strictly believe in nonviolence now."

Arnold quickly smiled. "Ya know, the funny thing is you didn't even _try_ to be sarcastic." The two shared a much-needed chuckle. Helga, though, quickly brought herself back on track.

"But honestly, you deserve better than that. I mean, what girl in her right mind wouldn't want someone like you to be with? You're sweet, and caring, and kind... and... and you're so cute when you blush!"

Sure enough, Arnold had turned five shades of red. For added effect, Helgs grabbed one of Arnold's cheeks and pinched away like grandma would. She let up moments later, feeling she had embarassed him thoroughly enough. His revenge would come quickly, for as soon as she pulled away, he dove in and tickled Helga like no human had e'er been tickled before. Satisfied, he pulled away, laughing hysterically as Helgs did the same.

"Ya know," Arnold started, "...we could do worse than each other, right?"

"Yeah... but not by much," she replied with a chuckle.

"So," began Arnold, with his smile widening by the second. "Are we on?"

Helga paused to make sure she said the right thing. _I've wanted you to say that for years!... Of course I will, Football Head!... I'd love to!... Yes!... C'mon, Helgs, say something!  
_  
"...sure."

Arnold smiled as he took another sip of his drink. "Great. It's a date."

Helga smiled softly. A date... with Arnold... she liked the sound of that, she thought. Or at least she would've thought it, if her mind hadn't started doing backflips in celebration.

* * *

Well, I think it's time for some much-needed author's note... ness... ing. First things first, though. Everyone who's reading this, whether you review or not, I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. I've had this story in me for a while, but with the demands of life and lack of a computer until recently, I didn't have the time or means to get it out. But now, it's out... and this time, it's personal.

Now to answer a few questions, in no particular order. Yes, Lucy, this is the story I was talking about when I had you draw the movie poster. I don't have it anymore (Stupid reformatting). Yes, Bea, I hate Milkshake (the song), but I do enjoy milkshake, the ice cream treat. And to everybody else, I'm glad you enjoyed the busy joke. I did too. More to come!


	5. Shock

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

* * *

_V  
__Shock

* * *

_

There are few simple joys that can compare to a Monday without school. While the rest of the world proceeds as usual, young students get to enjoy a day without having to pretend they're sick or worrying about getting caught skipping school. These were days to be fully taken advange of, and somewhere in Hillwood, two young lovers were doing just that.

It was an unusual place to be on a Monday - especailly at 10 in the morning - but now was not the time for asking questions. In the middle of a dimly-lit room, one could hear the sound of loud, rhythmic thumping and nearly inaudible gasping for air. The thumps got louder and quicker, quicker and louder, ending with a short pause and a loud bang. After moments of silence, the young man's eyes met those of his beautiful young lady; a wide smile on his face.

"So..." Gerald asked, heavily panting. "How... did I do?"

Phoebe smiled back. "That was... amazing! I never knew you could move like that."

"Sometimes... I amaze... myself." He was about ready to collapse.

"Should I get some towels?"

"Yeah," he replied, regaining a bit of breath. "And some water, too... please."

"Of course, honey." With a quick kiss on the lips, she slipped away. With Phoebe gone, Gerald collapsed on the ground. He smiled as he began to bask in the afterglow of what he just accomplished.

"What song was that, by the way?" asked Helga from her chair, three feet away from the action.

"Paranoia... Survivor... Max," replied Gerald, between gasps.

"Cool." She took a quick sip of her drink. "Is it hard?"

Gerald turned towards Helga and stared at her in disbelief. "Let me reitirate; It's called Paranoia... Survivor... Max!"

"Oh," she uttered before taking another short sip.

"Does it _sound_ easy to you?"

"I... I guess not..."

"I _defy_ you to put those three words together... in _any_ combination... and make it sound remotely easy!"

"Alright, already," she exclaimed as she threw her hands up in defeat. "I get it!"

"Sorry, Helgs," Gerald sighed. "I just... I get a little testy when I'm dehydrated. My bad."

"Eh, don't worry about it. It's not like I couldn't put you back in your place anyways..."

"Thanks... I mean, HEY!" Before he could return fire, he felt a chill on the back of his neck. He quickly turned his gaze upward and saw Phoebe standing over him, paper towels in one hand and a condensating - and, as Gerald discovered, very cold - bottle of water in the other.

"Drink," she said, handing the bottle to her beloved. "You know how you get when you're dehydrated." Gerald let out a mocking chuckle before bringing the bottle towards his lips. Before he could take a sip, he saw a blur of blonde approaching the group.

"My god, it's alive!" yelled Gerald. Sure enough, it was the football-head quickly making his way to the table, albeit groggily. If there was any question about whether or not Arnold was a morning person (is _any_ high school senior a morning person?), his appearance was a definitive answer. His loose t-shirt was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and his tired eyes made him look like he was either just waking up or just recovering from a hangover.

"Good morning to you, too," he muttered to Gerald as he grabbed a seat next to Helga. "What happened to you?"

"Paranoia Survivor Max," he said, as he pointed to the Dance Dance Revolution machine.

"Cool," Arnold responded. "Is it hard?"

Gerald froze. "Let me reiterate; it's called..."

"Drink your water, honey," pleaded Phoebe.

"But Feebs, it's Paran..."

"DRINK."

"Yes'um," uttered Gerald as he did what he was told. It was all in good fun between the two of them, but he didn't want to take any sort of chances. Contrary to a couple of his teachers' beliefs, he was a very smart man.

"Now that_ that's_ settled," said Phoebe with a smirk, "what brings the creature of the black lagoon to our table?"

"I forgot we were meeting up this early," said Arnold as he wiped something out of his eye. "Just woke up, actually."

"_Noooo_," gasped Helga in the most surprised mock-surprise she could muster.

"You'd think it takes hours to look this good, wouldn't you?"

Helga quickly bit her tongue to keep from saying something she'd never live down. Instead, she offered up a deep thought. "You know who you remind me of, with the hair? That one guy."

"You mean the guy with the hair?" asked Gerald with a smile.

"And the _head_?" chimed Arnold. Their conversation suddenly became very spirited.

"Oh, yeah! He was the one with the _eyes_!"

"And he did the _thing_?"

"You know, with that _one_ guy?"

"Oooh, what's-his-name?"

"The one with the weird _thing_!"

At this point, Phoebe couldn't keep herself from joining in on the fun. "Was it the one with the face?"

"Yeah, the face!" Arnold cried.

"Et tu, Feebs?" sighed Helga. She took yet another quick sip of her Yahoo while the others shared a laugh. "Seriously, though, he reminds me of that one guy from the Strokes. Julius... something."

"You're right!" exclaimed Phoebe. "Julius..." She began snapping her fingers, hoping it would spark some sort of answer. "...can't think of it."

"Damn, that's gonna bug me for the rest of the morning," said Helga as she took another swig of her caffinated nectar.

"By the way," asked Arnold, still trying to shake himself awake. "Why _are_ we here so early?"

"Cause me and Feebs gotta pick up some prom stuff that we forgot to get last night," replied Gerald as he took a swig from the water bottle.

"After last night, we were just so tired..." Phoebe added.

"I'll bet."

Gerald looked puzzled. "What does that mean, Arnold?"

"I think you know _exactly_ what that means."

Gerald paused for a moment and began to nod his head. "Yeah, I think I... No. I have no idea."

"Last night, when Helga called."

"What about it?" asked Phoebe, who was just as puzzled as her man.

"You two were busy."

"...yeah, so?" asked Gerald.

"_Busy_."

"...no clue."

"_**Busy**_."

"Aw, criminy!" cried Helga. "Remind me to never use innuendo with any of you ever again!"

"Helga," began Phoebe, "what does innuendo have to do... with..." She trailed off.

"Look," said Gerald as his face began to turn a brilliant red. "Let's not talk about what may or may not have made us gather here so early. The important thing is that we're..._ St. Lunatics and we here now_!"

"Who?" asked Phoebe.

"The St. Lunatics!" He looked at the two blonde tablemates for a response, but got nothing. "C'mon, now! Don't tell me you haven't heard of the 'Tics!" Still nothing. "Ali? Murphy Lee?" His eyes were filled with near-terror."_Nelly!_"

"Gerald, don't worry," said Arnold. "I'm sure they'll make it big soon."

An awkward silence fell over the table.

"Man, you guys are hopeless..." said Gerald with a sigh.

"But it's probably a good thing that I'm up. I've only got three weeks, and I- **JULIAN CASABLANCAS!**"

"That's _right!_" cried Helga. "How could I have forgotten?"

"Knew it would come to me." Arnold got back to the business at hand. "Anyways, I've got three weeks, and I still haven't picked out a suit for prom."

"I'm surprised Alexis hasn't ripped your head off for that one," joked Phoebe. Or at least, she tried to make it sound like she was joking.

"Actually... we broke up."

"Finally!" cried Gerald. "I mean..., well, what I meant to say was..."

Arnold put his hand up to stop his him. "Don't worry about it. It's been a couple weeks, so I'm fine."

"A couple weeks?" said Phoebe. "Arnold, why don't you tell us these things?"

"That's what _I_ said!" cried Helga.

"So who are you bringing?" asked Gerald.

"Well..." Arnold's face began to turn a little red. "Funny story..."

* * *

Well, I was stuck on this chapter for a long time. I had two different starts going (the other one being where Chapter 6 will pick up), seeing if either of them would get anything going in me, and for about a week, it was with no success. But all of a sudden, I just got on a roll, and voila! Chapter 5 is here for your enjoyment. Hopefully you guys and gals enjoy it.

CmarieL, thanks for the encouragement. I have this whole thing about Arnold/Helga/KG/Timmy that I won't go into here. I have to say, though, for the state of Minnesota, from the bottom of my heart... we're sorry for "giving" you Rasho Nesterovic. Our bad. We promise we won't do it again.

Antoinette, I'm glad someone else liked the BBD idea. It just sort of came to me one day, and I decided I had to work it into this story. Wyld, I fell victim to Section 4, Article 11, Pgph. 1 many a time myself. Although nobody thought I was having sex... and I'll leave it at that. Everyone else that has reviewed, and those that haven't, thank you for reading my story. Chapter 6 will be here... eventually.


	6. PARANOiA

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

* * *

_VI  
PARANOiA

* * *

_

"Short man, you've got a visitor!"

"On my way, Grampa!" cried Arnold as he made his way down the stairs. It had to be Gerald, he thought. After he told them who his prom date was, he and Feebs had given fake smiles, faker excuses, and made exits as smooth as sandpaper. He knew that the two of them weren't going to smile and say nothing.

"What's happenin', my man?" said Gerald as he extended his fist, which was quickly met by Arnold's as they exchanged their trademark handshake. "Hey," he started again as he pulled his hand away, a serious look coming across his face, "can I talk to ya' for a minute?"

Arnold sighed. "You say that like I have a choice," He turned towards the hall and the two started upstairs. "Gerald, I think I already know the answer, but where's Feebs?"

"HELGA!" Bob shouted from the doorway. "You've got a visitor!"

"Who is it?" asked Helga as she made her way towards the front hallway. The question was more out of habit than anything else - she knew exactly who it was. She and Gerald had given them the "hey, that's nice" treatment at GamePalace; fake smile, faker excuse, smooth-as-sanpaper exit. The whole nine yards. She knew the two of them wouldn't sit by with nothing to say about it.

"Idunno," uttered her father with Feebs standing in front of him. "Some Chinese girl."

"AHEM!" said Phoebe, obviously annoyed.

"I'm sorry," said Bob, realizing his error. He turned back to his daughter to rectify the situation. "Helga, some Chinese _woman_ is here to see you."

"Thanks for the heads up," said Helga as she yanked Phoebe into the hallway and towards the stairs. It was all she could do to keep Phoebe from exploding at her father. Sure enough, as Bob slumped back to his living room recliner, Phoebe began cursing him under her breath. It didn't take long before her English curses became Japanese, which was never a good sign for whoever was on the receiving end of them.

"_Sonna baka no nan de yannen?_"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Feebs," Helga said as she shut her bedroom door behind the two of them. "Turn off the subtitles. I need the English dub."

Phoebe took a couple of deep breaths before speaking again. "Sorry, Helga. It's just that he gets me so irritated with that Chinese stuff. It just makes me wanna... _shimekoroshitai ze!_"

"Subtitles, Feebs."

One more cleansing breath, and Phoebe's focus returned. "Sorry. Your father's not important right now. What's important is that we need to talk about you and..."

"Ice cream?"

"No thanks, Arnold. Just had some."

"Yahoo?"

"Arnold, can we just..."

"Water? You look like you need some..."

"I do not need any water right now!"

"Fine. Suit yourself. I'll be right back." With that, Arnold got off of his bed and began to head towards the door. His progress was stopped by a sudden jerk of his arm.

"Not so fast, my man. Have a seat." Gerald tugged on his friend's arm and sent him back towards the bed. He then stood up in front of him, preventing another escape. "This is serious."

"You sure you don't need some water? You sound a little..."

"_Arnold!_"

Arnold sighed, realizing he was defeated. "Okay, okay. You've got my attention. Go ahead and tell me what a big mistake I'm making with Helgs."

"I'm not saying that you're making a big mistake here. All I'm saying is that..."

"You're making a big mistake here."

Helga's eyed widened in shock, taken back by Phoebe's sharp words. Ever since she started going out with Gerald, she started to mature and grow in several noticable ways, including growing a backbone. Even still, she always seemed to sugarcoat her words amongst her friends. For her to say something so bold, Helga knew this had to be serious.

"I'm sorry, Helgs," said Phoebe as she put a hand on Helga's shoulder, "but that's just how I see this."

"Feebs, this is not a big mistake." Helga let out a small sigh. She stood up from the bed and turned towards her friend, ready to argue her case. "For one, this isn't marriage or anything like that. This is, after all is said and done, a school dance. Granted, it's the biggest school dance of my life, but it's a dance nonetheless."

"Point taken."

"And two," Helga continued, "this isn't some loser or random guy from Chemistry that I've barely talked to. This is Arnold we're talking about."

"And therein lies the problem," chimed Phoebe.

"Feebs..." Helga leaned down towards the bed and put her arms on the outside of Phoebe's knees, propping herself up so that she could look straight into her eyes. "I know that I have a history with Arnold, but as hard as it is to believe... this is no big deal."

"**_No big deal!_**"

"That's right, Gerald," said Arnold, still seated on the bed. "This is no big deal. It's just two friends going to prom. Nothing more."

Gerald's eyes widened in shock. "I hope you don't honestly believe that."

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gerald sighed heavily. "See, stuff like this is why we make fun of you guys on ComicView."

"Comic View?"

"Forget that part," Gerald continued as he began pacing in front of Arnold's bed, "but let's clear up something right now. Are you going as a couple or as friends?"

Arnold started to answer, but quickly stopped himself. He tried again, but still, no words could come out of his mouth. After a moment's thought, he made one more attempt. This time, he was slightly more successful.

"I... Well, you see..."

"Mmm-_hmmm_," replied Gerald in a somber tone. "And what does Helgs think this is?" He paused for an answer, but Arnold made no attempt at a reply. "That's what I thought," he concluded with a knowing nod. "Although, I should've expected you not to know. Seeing as how she probably doesn't either."

"And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like; she's confused."

Arnold's annoyance started to surface. He rose up from the bed, cocked his head slightly to the side, and placed his hands on his hips before he began to speak. "And you know this how?"

"Easy, brotha'" said Gerald. As he did, he put his hand up in front of him as though he was showing Arnold he didn't have a weapon. "All I'm sayin' is that this isn't just any girl you're going out with. Let's not forget that she spent half her life being completely obsessed with you. And I doubt that she's completely forgotten 'bout it, either."

"Look, Helgs spent half her life obsessed with me," Arnold allowed, "but the keyword here is _spent_. Past tense. She's not the same girl she was 7 or 8 years ago. She's moved on with her life."

"I don't know how minds work, but you can't just forget about..."

"I know, I know, but it's the past. I can tell you this much; Helga G. Pataki has no romantic feelings for me."

"Now look me in the eyes and say it."

"_C'mon_, Feebs, this is ridiculous!" cried Helga as she shot up from the bed. She had spent the last fifteen minutes of her life getting grilled, questioned, grilled, preached to, and grilled. Now she had to do this? That was too much.

"Helga, if you do it, I won't bug you about any of this ever again."

The offer made Helga raise an eyebrow at her interrogator. "What about Gerald?"

"Him too."

Phoebe answered quickly. Too quickly, thought Helga. There had to be some other catch that she was... A-HA!

"Arnold gets amnesty."

Phoebe snapped her fingers in disappointment, knowing she had seen her victory snatched away by the jaws of defeat. "Fine. But you have to look me in the eyes the entire time." She extended her hand out, and it was quickly met with Helga's.

"Deal!" she exclaimed as she sat back down on the bed, gameplan already set. Helga was a capable liar, but she couldn't flat-out deceive her best friend.

But omitting part of the truth? That's a whole other story.

Helga took a deep, clensing breath, stared Phoebe straight in the eyes, and began to speak quite calmly. "I do not have any romantic feelings for Arnold."

It was too easy, Phoebe thought. She knew that there had to be some sort of catch that she was... A-HA!

"Say it again."

Helga slapped her forehead and brought her hand down her face. "Feebs, I don't know how many times I have to..."

"...and say the last name."

Helga was frozen in her tracks... momentarily. Desperate to not show any chinks in the armor, she quickly muttered something or other out of annoyance before turning back to her friend. _Now or never_, she thought. _What's one more little white lie between friends?  
_  
"I... do not... have any... romantic... feelings... for Arnold..."

One mor word and she was scott free. All she had to do was stare Feebs dead in the eye and say one word... One simple word... right in the eye... It'd be a piece of cake... right?

"...Arnold..."

Well, it would be if she stopped looking at her like that... With those eyes... Suddenly she felt herself starting to speak. She tried to stop herself, but it was already out of her mouth.

"...Schwartzenegger," she muttered.

"Aw, _Helga_..." Phoebe sighed. "This is why I think this is a bad idea."

"Look," said Arnold, trying to explain himself. "I know this sounds like a bad idea, and I know you think it's a bad idea..."

Gerald immediately held a hand up in Arnold's face. "No, I don't_ think_ it's a bad idea. I _know_ it's a bad idea. I mean, you two are almost as close as you and me."

Arnold pushed his friend's hand away. "And?"

"And, you don't think it'd be a little weird if, oh, say you and I went to prom together?"

Arnold froze in mid-movement, a smile creeping onto his face. "A little weird wouldn't begin to..."

"Arnold, I'm serious." Gerald was obviously annoyed, but it was mostly toward himself for leaving himself open to such an easy joke at a time like this. "Since you want to go with a very good friend, I want you to think about what would happen if your prom date was your _best_ friend."

The smirk from Arnold's face was still present. "You're not making this any easier for..."

"This is all _hypothetical_, man! Trust me; even if I _was_ gay, I could do a helluva lot better than you!"

Arnold raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me I should've been insulted by that."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just listen, okay? Now imagine if we went to prom together." Arnold snickered. "_Hypothetically_, man!"

"I'm sorry," he said between chuckles. "Okay, you and me at prom."

"Imagine if we _hypothetically_ go to dinner." He paused, seeing if Arnold would crack up again. Seeing that he didn't, Gerald continued. "So you and me go to dinner, and we talk. Like friends do... like we do. Only it's going a little better."

"Hypothetically."

"Yes, hypothetically," Gerald allowed. "So what would you think? Would you think I want you to make a move, or that I'm just acting like that because I think you want to make a move?"

"I think I see what you're..."

"So now we're at prom, right?" Gerald was getting more and more involved in the situation by the second. "And this slow song comes on."

"This is still hypothetically, right?" Arnold asked.

"Of course. So we dance. Are you thinking that I'm interested in you, or just playing along?"

Arnold took a deep breath and began to nod. "I understand what..."

"So after all this, we go somewhere where we're alone. And one thing starts leading to another." He paused.

"**_Hypothetically!_**" they both said in unison, a little nervously.

"So now what do you do?"

"Well," Arnold began, "I'd... probably... you know... lean in and... kiss you."

"And I'd say, 'What the _hell_ are you doing? I don't like you like that! Don't talk to me **ever **again!' And I would keep my word, cause you screwed up a great friendship. What would you say to _that?_ Huh?"

Arnold didn't respond at first. He looked at Gerald with a raised eyebrow before breaking the silence.

"Do you think this is a little awkward?"

"Arnold, my man, we passed awkward a _loooooong_ time ago." He broke a smile, which quickly broke into laughter. He was joined by Arnold, who just had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Gerald began to gather himself up before adressing his friend again. "Look, I'll leave you alone about this for a while, but lemme just say one thing. You and Helgs... there's something special there. I don't know if it's just a friendship..."

"...or if there's the possibilty of something more," Phoebe continued, staring her friend right in the eye. "I'm just glad to see the two of you get along so well..."

"..._especially_ after everything that's happened with you two. I just don't wanna see that get messed up over something like this. All I'm saying..."

"...is just please, please, _please_..."

"...don't fuck it up."

* * *

Before you jump down my throat, the Motion Picture Academy of America's old rating guidelines said that you could use a major curse once in a PG-13 story, assuming that all of the other elements of the story fell well within PG-13 guidelines. I know they recently changed that rule, but I'm sticking with the "one-biggie" guideline. So there ya go.

As for the actual reason you're jumping down my throat (two weeks since my last update): Yikes. What can I say? I've had two days off in the past two weeks, so that didn't help. Plus, with the size and content of this chapter, it was a female dog and a half to write. But I haven't ignored the story, and I don't plan on doing so for a while.

I just wanna say thank you to everyone who's reading and enjoying this story. Your reviews really do make my day (and make me feel all warm and squishy inside... like some warm, squishy, shquishy warmth). It's such a strange feeling to see reviews from some of the people who have written awesome stories that I've gone back and read again and again. I keep thinking, "why do they like my story? It sucks compared to what they've done!" But it really does keep me going. Thank you.

For the record, Phoebe says "How can he be so stupid?" and "I want to strangle him!" My friend (a Japanese major) translated the lines for me, so I owe him a debt of gratitude. And 5.

Oh, and Chudney? There's no shame in depreciating against the Euro. The Euro's a damn-strong currency that just don't quit. I heard it took down the Yen and Franc at the same time... with its bear hands. Scary stuff.


	7. So Deep

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

* * *

_VII  
So Deep

* * *

_

Helga's face twisted one way, then contorted another. She then sighed in disgust and brought her hands over her eyes, hoping that if she didn't see it, it wouldn't be really happening. It was easy to see that she was in pain, and a glance at Arnold's television could quickly tell one what was hurting her so.

_"Kobe Bryant with yet ANOTHER circus shot! He's already got 14, and we've still got three minutes to go in the first quarter!"  
_  
"This is ugly," Helga exclaimed as she reached across Arnold's bed for the TV remote. She was denied, however, by Arnold's cat-like reflexes. He quickly grabbed the remote and held it out as his side, opposite his friend.

"Oh, c'mon, Helgs. It's only the first quarter. We've still got plenty of time to come back." Helga, not to be denied, quickly dove at Arnold, trying to snatch the control away. A quick dive by Arnold made sure that she would come up empty.

"Arnold," she sighed after her defeat, "as much as I appreciate your undying optimism and eternal faith in the Sonics... it's 21 to 4. I mean, criminy, even _chemistry_ looks more appealing than this!"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Aw, it ain't that bad. I mean, we're behind now, but any second..."

_"Allen stops. He's looking for someone to pass to. He throws it RIGHT TO BRYANT, and we're going the other way! Bryant stops, pulls up, that's a 3 if it goes... AND IT DOES! Seventeen for..."  
_  
"Knock yourself out," said a defeated Arnold as he tossed the remote over to Helga.

"Was that so hard, Arnaldo?" Helga asked with a slight grin. She quickly turned her attention towards the remote just in time to miss Arnold shaking his head in disappointment. "Now, time for something that will be _entertaining_ to watch. I wonder if Punk'd is on yet..."

_click  
My milkshake brings all the-  
click_

"On second thought," said Helga, tossing the remote back in Arnold's direction, "there's always hope."

"Now, was that so hard?" asked Arnold. His reflexes were quickly tested again, as he ducked a pillow thrown from Helga's direction. It was a test he failed, as he got hit right in the nose. It wasn't exactly a brick, but the pillow was thrown with enough force and it had hit him at just the right angle to cause his nose some discomfort.

"Sorry," said a remorseful Helga.

"Meh, don't worry 'bout it," replied Arnold, as he scrunched his nose as if it would help it feel better. "It's just been a long day."

"You too, huh?" Helga turned away from the game and towards her friend. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a visitor you had... oh, around noonish?"

"So I'm not the only one who got a prom pep-talk." Arnold turned towards Helga, mirroring her "looking-at-you-but-still-watching-the-game" position. "What happened on your end?"

"Oh, she just said that this was the biggest mistake of my life. No biggie." Helga chose to omit the part about confessing her feelings, thinking that she'd try and avoid an awkward moment if at all possible. "Oh, yeah," she continued. "Bob called Feebs Chinese."

"Does this mean she's no longer 'some Oriental girl'?" Arnold asked in his best Big Bob voice.

"We can only hope. So what happened with you and Gerald?"

"Same thing, pretty much," sighed Arnold. "but _my_ biggest mistake was trying to kiss Gerald."

A look of shock came over Helga's face. "Okay, _that's_ gonna make me raise an eyebrow," she said, and proceded to do just that.

"Oh, don't worry. Gerald dumped me for it."

There was a pause, but Helga's face remained unchanged. "Yeah..." she finally said. "See how my eyebrow is still raised?"

Arnold sighed again. "Don't worry, it was just hypothetically speaking. I'm not gay."

**"Get outta here!"  
**  
"No, seriously," defended Arnold, "I'm not!"

Helga turned back towards Arnold. "What?... OH! I was talking about the foul on Shaq they just missed."

"Ooooh."

"I wasn't too worried about you, though," Helga replied as she returned to her Arnold-and-TV-watching position, "cause even if you _were_ gay, Gerald could do a helluva lot better than you."

Arnold raised an eyebrow in semi-shock. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I can be attractive to a gay guy!"

"Oh, _c'mon_!" exclaimed Helga.

"Fine." Arnold threw his hands up. "If you don't believe me, wait 'till next weekend, when we go to GamePalace, and we can ask Eug..."

"Wha?..." Helga turned back to her friend. "Oh... Kobe just got away with travelling."

"Helgs, they_ never_ call travelling anymore."

"I know, but still..." Helga trailed off, turning towards the screen. Ray Allen looked like he was about to drive through the lane, but in thruth, the game had only half of her attention. How could she possibly focus on a stupid basketball game? She had to deal with the questions Phoebe had made her ask herself, the doubts she put in her mind, and she couldn't even begin to fathom the questions and doubts Gerald had no doubt put into Arnold's mind... Come to think of it, what was Arnold thinking? What was he feeling? What was he...

"Were you planning on finishing that sentance anytime soon?"

It took a moment for Helga to come back to reality and register what Arnold had asked. "Yeah," she finally said. "It's just that... I was... ya know..."

"What about that one?"

At first, Helga didn't respond. Her posture was slouched; Her gaze distant, staring at some point beyond the walls of Arnold's room. Then, in what seemed to be one furiously fluid motion, she shot up from the bed, grabbed the TV remote, pounded its off button and tossed it aside, all while turning back towards Arnold.

"Sit," she demanded.

"I'm... already sitting," replied a very puzzled Arnold.

"Well..." a flustered Helga replied, "...sit... more!"

"...Sit more?"

"Just shuddup!" Her demand immediately straightened Arnold's posture and grabbed his full attention. Helga wanted to apologize for scaring him. Really, she did. But she couldn't let anything slow her down. Not now. She took one last sigh to gather herself before... well, she didn't want to think about what could folow.

_Now or never, Helgs.  
_

* * *

I am so very, very disappointed in myself. I can use my recent promotion or my recent drama with my ex as an excuse, but the bottom line is, I made you wait a month... for this. It's inexcusible, I know, but I do have my reasons. Mainly, this chapter took a huge turn from where I thought it would end up, and I think that if I kept it in this chapter, I'd try to compact it to keep the chapter from being too long, so this is where I'll leave you for now. (Plus, since this and 8 are basically 2 parts of one scene, I get to use the cool chapter name gimmick I've been trying to sneak in for a while.)

As it stands right now, prom's gonna be just under half the story, and it's still a couple chapters away, so we're almost at the half-way mark. As for Chapter 8 (specifically, "when the hell will it be done?"), it's on the same schedule as the other chapters; it'll be on here when it's done. Until then, enjoy!


	8. More Deep

NOTE: You will see this story updated over the next few days, but there will be no serious changes of note. I'll be cleaning up a few errors and formatting the presentation of all previous chapters, but there will be no change in the story. However, if you _want_ to re-read Ch. 1-7, I'm not gonna stop you.

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

* * *

VIII  
_More Deep_

* * *

Pacing back and forth in _his_ room, in front of _his_ bed, with _his_ full attention, she was speechless. Never did Helga rue the fact that fantasy and reality were two seperate things more than she did at this moment. In her thousands of dreams about this moment, the words came so easily. At the most romantic of locales, the worst parts of the world, the sunniest of days, the rainiest of nights; it didn't matter. She knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it, and exactly how to make him hers. And somehow, some way, it would always work.

This, however, was a totally different ballgame. She didn't have him on top of the Eiffel Tower; she had a climate-controlled bedroom that, to her, felt like 110 degrees. She didn't have a stunning dress to wow him with; she had an old pair of baggy shorts and a size-too-big tank top. She didn't have Shakespearian poetry to shake his soul; she had whatever the hell she could think of off the top of her head. Which, at the moment, was not a damn thing.

But the worst part was that once she said those three little words, she had no guarantee that he'd return them to her in his oh-so-sweet voice and add a 'too' at the end. And the more Helga thought about it, the more she thought - nay, _knew -_ that he wouldn't.

She was screwed.

"Look" Helga finally started, desperate to not screw things up more than neseccary. "What I'm about to say... Well... You're probably not gonna like it... I mean, I _hope_ you do... But if you don't, then... Well, you probably won't... So if you never want to speak to me again, then I'll understand..."

"Wait, wait, wait" begged Arnold; a look of confusion crossed his face. "_If I never want to speak to you again?_" He paused, contemplating what he had just repeated. "Look, I don't know what you could possibly say that would make me hate you... "

"Arnold, please," she begged. She wasn't sure what she was begging _for_, exactly, but whatever it was, she wasn't getting it from Arnold. What she did get from him was a hand on her shoulder and a deep look of concern.

"Helga, whatever it is that you want to say, just say it! I _promise_ that it won't change anything between us."

Helga was frozen in her tracks. She was surprised by his comment, and yet, she shouldn't have been at all. It was, of course, such an... _Arnold-y_ thing to say. All at once, she wanted to slap, kiss, and choke Arnold. Instead, she decided to go for Option 4: leaving.

"Forget it," she finally sighed, defeated. "This was a mistake." With that she turned away from Arnold and took a step towards the door. Her eyes began to water, but tears would not fall from her eyes. Not that she wanted to not cry, but she really didn't have much to cry about. She didn't do anything. Then again, that was the whole problem; She didn't do anything.

Arnold, however, wouldn't let her off the hook so easily. "Helga," he demanded, "I don't care what you did, or what you're going to do, or whatever it is that's bugging you. You can tell me anything."

"It's not that easy," she said as she turned back towards him. Her tears finally decided to fall, but they came in slow, soft drops.

"I know," he sighed as he made his way beside Helga. "I know..." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. Helga buried her face in his chest, but she still wouldn't allow herself to break down. For a few moments, they were still and silent, neither knowing what to say or do. Finally, Arnold pulled her away and looked straight into her eyes with what Helga had dubbed "The Arnold Face;" Puppy-dog eyes and a half-sheepish, half-encouraging smile that begged you to do whatever he wanted you to do. He was too nice of a guy (and perhaps too naive) to do it intentionally, but when he did, it was almost irresistable.

"I... I... I can't!" she sighed. She slid out of Arnold's grasp and again made a move for the door.

"Oh, Helgs, _please!_" Arnold called as he grabbed at her hand with both of his.

"I'm sorry..." she called back as she shook her hand free. She stood before the door, but she didn't open it. Nonetheless, she kept her back turned from him, fearing what would spill out if she had to look at him right now.

"Helga," he pleaded, "whatever it is, it's not the end of the world."

Her eyes shot open when she heard that comment. She quickly spun around and stared Arnold down. "Oh, what do _you_ know!" she spat at him, her voice dripping with venom and a pinch of her old schoolyard bully persona.

"I don't know **what** I know," Arnold defended. "And I'm sorry, but I _won't_ know unless you..."

"Oh, goddamnitArnoldI'min**love**withyou!"

* * *

Short and sweet. Well, short. But it's here, and that's the important thing.

This isn't where I wanted to end this chapter. I wanted to complete the scene, but I got hit with perhaps the motherload of writer's block. It took me a solid month to get about halfway through this chapter. For the next four months, every time I tried to touch it, I got nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Even after a random review out of nowhere got me motivated again, I still couldn't get far. Bottom line: I'm not good at writing (quickly, at least) without massive amounts of humor. I'll get through this scene (I **promise. **I've even called in the special forces), then I'll be back in my humor comfort zone.

By the way, thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed my story. I want to give a HUGE thank you to Passing Entity and Pointy Objects. Without Entity searching for, reading, and reviewing my "dead" story, there'd be no chapter 8. Without Pointy offering her tremendous help, there'd be no chapter 9. I truly thank both of you for helpin' a brotha' out.


	9. Midnite Blaze

I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

Note: This chapter was co-written by Pointy Objects. She be cool like dat. Also, she makes no claims as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters.

* * *

_IX  
Midnite Blaze_

* * *

For a moment, everything stopped. The low murmur of the old boarding house went silent, as if waiting for permission to speak again. Even the hustle and bustle of suburban Seattle seemed to take pause, if just for a moment, as to not disturb the tense situation. There was absolute silence, and to Helga, it was deafening.

That silence was soon broken by a soft weeping, which slowly built its way up to an all-out bawl. Helga knew that, clear concience or not, she had just destroyed the best friendship she ever had in one sudden blow. The guilt was getting to her. The silence was getting to her. Her stupidity was getting to her. She couldn't take it anymore; she had to get out. She opened the door and began to leave, but something was holding her back.

That something just happened to be Arnold's voice.

"Are you sure?"

Slowly, Helga turned back towards the bed - towards _him_ - and nodded through her tears. A meager smile started to appear on her face, but she wouldn't allow it to take hold, so she bit her lip.

Arnold, meanwhile, was stunned. A heavily sighed "Wow," was all he could muster. The blow he had just taken knocked him into a daze, and he collapsed onto the bed. He looked at Helga with... was it... disappointment? Anger? Wonder? Maybe somewhere between the three. Or maybe he was just glazed over. He was struggling to make sense of the last 15 seconds. She knew the last thing he needed was more information to process, but the floodgates were open. She just couldn't stop now.

"Look, Arnold...," she begain as she sat beside him. "I... I know we're best friends. And honestly, I can live with being just your best friend. I really can. But... there's something here. I feel something with you... and I don't feel it with Feebs, and I sure as hell don't feel it with Gerald... But it's not just different, it's... _deeper..._ y'know? Hell, why would you know? **I**don't even know, it's just... I don't know..."

"I think I do..." uttered Arnold. "I think I do... I mean, look..." he began as the two finally brought themselves to look at each other. "Helga, you're... an amazing woman... I mean... you're the best friend a guy could ask for..."

"And you wouldn't want to do anything that would jeopardize our valuable friendship," Helga said as if it was already committed to memory.

"Yeah," Arnold muttered. A look of agony began to cross her face and the beginnings of tears began to form in her eyes. For her, the rejection was like being sentenced to death by firing squad; She knew what was coming and when, but in the end, it still hurt all the same.

"...But,"

Suddenly, her eyes widened. "...But?"

"...But... I just have this feeling..."

Suddenly, Helga's face went from feigned calmness to panic, as if she were in pain. Turning her back on Arnold, she grabbed at her right hip, struggling to relieve whatever had painted her face this fusion of agony and shock.

Arnold had obviously taken notice of her expression and decided this was a good opportunity to address the issue, without really addressing the issue. "Look, I know this is probably difficult for you-"

"Nuuuuuughhhhhh… It's not that… I'm…. vibrating," Helga said, still grasping at her side.

Arnold on the other hand wasn't sure if he'd heard her right. "Um, excuse me?"

"I swear, I don't know why I even keep this thing on…" she said, snatching a thin, metallic pager from her right hip and stared at the small screen in apparent frustration. "Wunderbar…" Helga fumed, shoving the annoying device back on her hip.

"Wonder Bra?" Arnold asked, slightly baffled by the shift in conversation. One minute they were discussing her feelings for him, and the next, she'd abruptly brought up women's underwear.

"German for 'Wonderful,'" she said, still avoiding his face, instead focusing on adjusting her beeper clip. "I have to go," she muttered, heading for the door.

"Wait, hold on…" Arnold urged. "I could've _sworn_ we were in the middle of something important."

"O-C-H, M-D" she said, reciting her text message and shrugging her shoulders, as if helpless in the dilemma. She noted the puzzled look on Arnold's face and felt the need to clarify for the second time. "Means, 'Olga's Coming Home; Make Dinner."

"Helga…" Arnold sighed, knowing the matter would have to be tackled sometime in the near future, and now was looking like the best (and most convenient) time.

"I know, I know… it's ridiculous. The guy runs an electronics store for 20 years, and won't even pony up the dough to pay for a cell phone bill. Sad."

"Helga, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Helga retorted, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

"Then why are you avoiding it?" he asked.

"Because…" she began, turning back towards Arnold while taking in a deep breath, "_you_ don't want to think about this right now, and _I _don't want to think about this right now. Am I correct?" she asked, her diction growing as she spoke.

Arnold certainly didn't want to admit it. He was already uncomfortable with the current situation, what with Helga confessing her… feelings for him. And after her evident disappointment in his "less than enthusiastic" reply - intentional or not - the last thing he wanted to do was ponder the predicament any more than he had to.

"Mmmmnnnnooooot really..." he murmured.

"And you don't want to _talk _about it either, do you?" she asked, to some extent stretching her good fortune.

"No, but I-"

"And _**I** _sure as hell don't wanna talk about it, so this is what we're gonna do. I'm gonna go home, you're going to stay here, and we're going to go about our business as usual. You're going to finish watching the game and go to bed or whatever. And I'm going to go home and stay up to God knows **_how_** late making a dinner I don't want to eat for a bunch of people I don't even-" he kissed her.

It was sudden. It was sloppy. It was passionate. It was over.

Before Helga could realize what was happening and respond in some way, the kiss ended. Arnold pulled away, breathing heavily. For what seemed like an eternity, all they could do was look into each others' eyes. Had Arnold's gaze pulled away slightly, he would've gotten a full view of Helga's lips starting - ever so slowly - to curl into a smile. Likewise, had Helga's gaze pulled away slightly, she would've seen Arnold's lips begin to pull apart as he started to say something.

"...I shouldn't have done that..."

With those five words, Helga was violently shaken from her dreamlike state. Her eyes - the same ones that were filled with incomperable joy mere moments ago - now glazed over in a state of shock. A mere five seconds ago, she would've died a happy woman. Now, she just wanted to die. The one person who she thought would never hurt her, did.

"I'm sorry," he pleaded almost immediately. He was stumbling over his words, and the harder he tried to speak, the worse it became. "I'm sorry," he said again. It was almost the only thing he could say. "I didn't mean-"

"Don't," Helga replied coldly. The damage had been done. There was nothing in her mind that would make it any better, but that sure didn't stop Arnold from trying.

"Helga, I'm sorry. I-"

"Stop," she said with bone-chilling authority. "There's not a damn thing you could say that-"

"_It came out wrong!"_

Helga's eyes widened in shock. "Well, how the fuck **was** it supposed to come out?" she screamed as she shot up from the bed. If there was anyone in the building that wasn't aware of the commotion going on in the attic, there was no doubt now, as Helga's voice carried more fire and brimstone than Hell itself.

"I... I don't know... I'm sorry," Arnold sighed.

"I don't know about you, but if the person _you've_ secretly loved for the past few years kisses you out of nowhere, the last thing you wanna hear them say is "_I shouldn't have done that!"_

"I'm sorry" he uttered for what felt like the millionth time.

"What are you sorry for?" Helga screamed. "That you don't love me?"

"It's not that," he replied with as much authority as he could muster.

"Oh, so you **do** love me."

"I..." Arnold froze.

"Oh, _c'mon_, say it!"

"I... I don't know!" he finally cried.

"Wrong answer!" screamed Helga as she began to storm towards the door. A hand on her arm was the only thing that stopped her.

"Helga!" he pleaded. "What do you want me to say?"

"Arnold, just go ahead and say it!" she demanded through the tears that started to form in her eyes. "You **don't** love me."

"No! I mean, Yes! I mean..." Arnold threw his hands up in defeat. "**Dammit**, Helgs, I don't **know**!"

"So what the hell does that mean?" she said, exasperated.

"It **means**..." Quickly, Arnold quelled his anger - no, frustration. He took a deep breath and continued. "It means that _this_ is what we're gonna do. You're going to go home, make dinner for your family, and go to bed. I'm going to stay here, watch the game, and go to bed. In three weeks, we'll go to prom, and we'll have a great time."

"Well that sounds all well and good," Helga began, sounding much softer than she had mere moments ago. "But what happens between now and then?"

Arnold reached over and took Helga's hands into his own as she joined him in sitting on the bed. "Tonight, I'm gonna try and figure out what the hell's going on in my head, and what I want to do about it. Tomorrow..." He paused to take a deep breath. "We're gonna talk. _A lot._ And I'm gonna listen. _A lot._ And whatever we decide to do... well, we'll do it."

"It's not always that easy, ya' know."

"Helgs," he assured, "we'll do it."

There it was; that tone of voice that was never harsh but always firm; Never cocky but always sure; Never naive but always optimistic. The "Arnold Tone." No matter how difficult - nay, impossible - the task was, all he had to do was tell her that all would be right with the world, and by golly, all _would_ be right with the world. He would make it so.

Helga started to smile again, but she caught herself and killed the impulse. She looked at her watch, hoping she could think of some excuse to leave before remembering that she already had one. "Well, I gotta go make that dinner..." she said. Her tone was that of someone trying to leave, but her body made no such motion.

"Yeah, that dinner..."

There was another awkward silence that fell over the room. It was a few moments before Helga again broke it.

"There really isn't a way for me to leave gracefully, is there?" she asked as a hint of a sheepish grin began to cross her face.

"Not really," Arnold replied, nervously returning the smile.

"Well then..." Helga replied as she stood. She didn't know how to finish that sentence, so she decided not to. Instead, she began to make her way towards the door. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, she was (once again) frozed in her tracks by Arnold's voice.

"I love-" he started before bighting his lip.

He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying, could he? She started to turn back towards Arnold, but her body wouldn't allow her to complete the motion. It was as if her body thought that Arnold's words were part of a dream, and turning around would have awaken both of them. No, she would take the last few moments as fantasy and be happy with it.

But Arnold did, in fact, say, "I love-" and was frozen himself. As awkward as the last ten minutes (was it only ten minutes? It felt like two hours!) had been, he nearly raised the awkward level tenfold. What he almost said was bad enough, but the silence that had fallen over the room as he tried to figure out what to say was worse. He needed to say something - God, _anything_ - to put an end to this silence. Suddenly, Arnold said the first somewhat-sensible thing that came to mind.

"...chicken," he stuttered. At that, Helga's face _should_ have shown disappointment; Well, it did, slightly, but Arnold never saw it. As she turned back towards him, she couldn't help raising an eyebrow in confusion at Arnold.

_Did I just say... Chicken!_

"You know," he desperately started again, "_Chicken! _...for dinner!"

_Oh my god, I **did** say chicken._

_Twice!_

"Cause if you needed... any _ideas_, ya know... for your dinner, I mean..."

_Abort! Abort! Get outta there!_

"Well... chicken is... good. For dinner."

_Smooth move, X-Lax. Smooth move._

After a moment, Helga lowered her eyebrow and her features softened into a smile. Not a big one, but a gentle, genuine one. "Thanks, Arnold," she said. "I love chicken, too." With that, she made her way out of his room and towards the main hallway.

Once he heard Helga close the front door, Arnold fell back onto his bed. He layed with his hands behind his head, staring at the stars through his skylight, as if they held some sort of answer for what the hell had just happened over the last ten minutes. Moments later, he turned back to the TV, hoping he'd find something to distract him for a little while.

No such luck. The Lakers were now leading the Sonics by 27, and there were still ten minutes left in the first half. Arnold turned his attention back to the stars. The Sonics' problems were the last thing on his mind at this point. He needed to figure out how he felt for Helga. He needed to figure out what their prom date really meant.

And he needed to figure out why the hell he had such a sudden craving for chicken.

**

* * *

First things first; everyone turn to Pointy Objects and bow at her awesomeness. No, seriously, step away from the computer, turn towards Maryland, and do the whole "We're not worthy" bowing thing. I'll be here when you get back.**

Now that the respect has been paid, I'll give her the mic so she can say a few words.

_First of all, everyone turn towards...dude, where do you live anyway? Who cares, turn towards all cardinal directions and bow obediently just so you don't miss him. I'm VERY glad that I was able to help with this chapter, it was as much fun to help with as it is to read. So thanks to TheBaldOneMpls, and anyone reading this. And BTW, if any of you guys get the chance to help with a story, take it IMMEDIATELY (Did I spell that right? Again, who cares...). Don't think that you can't or that your idea won't be good enough. The author evidently thought something about your work was good enough to ask for a contribution. And if they don't like it and bash you, screw them, use it for your own story and laugh at their expense when they get ZERO reviews and you get 4,987! And if they like it, even better! So thanks again to TheBaldOneMpls! That's all...turn the camera off...I'm serious, dude. Turn it off before I come over there! TURN IT OFF...what? It's off? Dude, I'm sorry. No really, I wasn't...Dude, why are you calling the cops? I wasn't really gonna shove it up...look, just put the phone down, okay? I'll take you to Starbucks, we can have coffee, talk this out...no really. Put the phone down or I WILL...oh you wanna run? You wanna run from ME? COME BACK HERE..._

Ummm... Pointy Objects, everybody! Awkward silence Well, first things second, thank you to everyone who's enjoyed the story so far. To everyone who's reviewed my story, thanks again. The fact that so many people are getting some enjoyment out of my work makes me feel awesome (not to mention makes my ego feel great... not that I have an ego or anything. Yeah. No ego here.).

You'll notice with the kissing scene in this chapter and the confession at the end of the last chapter that I'm taking some liberties with the rules of writing. I guess it's because there are certain parts of the story that I want you to see exactly as I see them. Like the kiss in this chapter; I wanted it to come out of nowhere, catching you (and Helga) off guard. I hope it's not confusing.

As of now, I'm 21 Or, as everybody in the hood (read: nobody in the hood) calls it, deuce-one. Consider this my birthday present to you. I expect Futurama DVDs in return. (Ecks-Dee) I promise, chapter 10 will be funny. Or, at least, funnier than this one. Till then, peace.


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